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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371536">Questionable Marriage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descended_from_Hufflepuffs/pseuds/Descended_from_Hufflepuffs'>Descended_from_Hufflepuffs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Descendants (Disney Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Doug is supportive, F/M, Questionable Marriage, Sort of anyway, Uma is determined, making it work, married in vegas, supportive friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:46:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,582</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descended_from_Hufflepuffs/pseuds/Descended_from_Hufflepuffs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Slowly, she put down the note, the card, and flipped down the photo frame. Calmly, she reached behind her back for a pillow, put her face in it, and screamed.</p><p>She got drunk married in Vegas.</p><p>She got drunk married in Vegas.</p><p>She got drunk married in Vegas!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Doug/Uma (Disney: Descendants)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Questionable Marriage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Uma had a headache. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Her memory of the last 12 hours was extremely spotty, with small snippets of laughter and a bright smile and a man in a cheesy suit. Feeling lighter than air and staring into kind eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Groaning, she sat up and wiped her face. She winced when cool metal hit her sensitive skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Metal. Cold metal. Ring? She never wore jewelry to bed. Ever. She opened her eyes and, yep, plain as anything there was a gold ring on her left hand. Left hand. Gold ring. Pretty boy with kind eyes dancing in her memories. Man in the cheesy suit…. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh Gods</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Uma frantically searched for her phone, figuring she probably had some pictures. Her search came to an abrupt stop when she saw a photograph in a gaudy pink frame that she’d never buy in a million years except clearly she did or at least she didn’t object to its purchase because it was sitting right there on the fucking nightstand surround a picture of her and some guy with kind eyes and a wide smile and he was laughing in that full-body kind of way and it was kinda cute but also what the fuck???? The picture was clearly inside a chapel. She was clearly with him. They were both clearly wearing rings and displaying them for the camera. And she had absolutely no idea who this guy was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except...no. She did know who he was. Or, well, sort of. Memories from the night before started filling in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were at their third bar of the night. Uma was out drinking away her feelings over losing yet another “nice guy” because of her commitment to her business. She was a working woman goddammit and she wasn’t going to apologise, even if displeasing Chad Charming could spell the end of her dealings with his father’s company.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But that didn’t matter because Harry had gifted her tickets to Vegas for her birthday and she and him and Gil were out there to forget about their responsibilities for a bit. At some point, Gil walked away and came back with a group of people, all just as hammered as they were and looking to go further. There was a girl with purple hair, a pretty girl that wasn’t even swaying in her stilettos despite popping back shots, and blond boy that clearly didn’t know how to hold his liquor. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s how they met.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was shorter than his friends but a little taller than her (then again so were most people). He walked over to her and sat next to the bar stool that she’d been occupying for the last ten minutes and somehow guessed she’d just had a breakup. He made a joke. She laughed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She laughed a lot that night.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sometime later, they’d been separated from their friends. They were sitting on the sidewalk and he was attempting to call an Uber for them when she suddenly decided she had to turn around. That’s when she noticed they were standing in front of one of the famous cliche Vegas chapels.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will you marry me?” she asked, still laughing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sure.” His voice was nice. He was nice. Fuck, no, he was great.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A man in a cheesy suit got them through the vows and ring selection. The bored lady at the reception desk took their picture. They were both laughing now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come on, husband, it’s late. I’ve gotta get back home.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you insist, my queen.” A gentleman, as he should be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Giggling as they entered the possibly empty hotel room. Stumbling and kissing and even more stumbling before they made it to bed. He called her “my queen” and “my love” and she called him “darling” and “diamond”. It felt right, better than almost anything else had in a long time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A boy. A nice boy. A nice boy that had kind eyes and made her laugh and made everything feel right, even for just a short time. A nice boy that she was now apparently married to. And now he was gone and she didn’t even remember getting a name or a number off of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s when she saw the note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>My beloved queen,</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’m sorry I can’t stick around to say this in person but I have a flight to catch very soon and my friends are going to tease me enough for going to someone else’s hotel room for the night even if I’m not late. I just wanted to say thank you for last night. I don’t remember many details but I know I had a good time every second starting when I first saw you and I don’t regret any of it. Not even the rings on our fingers, though I do think the gold is a bit tacky. Unless you like the gold, then it’s the best color ever and I couldn’t ask for better rings.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’m rambling now and I really don’t have time so I’ll cut to the chase. I’m your husband for the foreseeable future. I totally understand if you don’t want this. I can’t imagine many people would be up for marrying someone they only met the night before and probably don’t even remember the name of (it’s Doug, by the way) and most people would likely try to get it taken care of as soon as possible. Personally, I don’t regret this. Even if it’s an unorthodox way of getting together with someone, I think we could make a good team. From what I remember of you from last night, you’re a determined woman that feels confined by her lot in life but you haven’t let it stop you yet and you never will. You’re a strong, capable, competent, incredible example of humanity and I really wished I remembered more about you than how pretty your laugh is and how soft your hair is and how you look ten years younger when you sleep. I don’t remember your name or even the name of the bar we met at. What I do know is, you are my Queen with the Ocean-colored hair and I really wouldn’t trade this for anything.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’m leaving my card here (dick move, I know) and then I’m going to sneak out before your roommates wake up and start interrogating me. Please, call me. I know we can work this out. Or you can use the address to serve me divorce papers. Either way, up to you.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I hope to hear from you soon, my queen.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Your loyal knight,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Doug</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Uma read through the note once. Then twice. Then three times. Then she looked at the little card that accompanied it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Diamond Valley Mining Co.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Douglas Dwarfson- Vice President of Marketing</b>
</p><p>
  <b>345-987-1010</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the back, she saw another number, handwritten, likely his personal number. Slowly, she put down the note, the card, and flipped down the photo frame. Calmly, she reached behind her back for a pillow, put her face in it, and screamed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got drunk married in Vegas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got</span>
  <em>
    <span> drunk married </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Vegas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She got drunk married in Vegas!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only people who got drunk married in Vegas were incompetent fools who couldn’t get a handle on their life and make reckless and impulsive decisions. That was not Uma. Uma was competent. She planned pretty much every aspect of her life, almost down to the minute. She was never impulsive or reckless, always weighing every option for the best possible path forward. Getting drunk married in Vegas did not fit into that way of life. Hell, drunk hooking up barely fit in most of the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How was she supposed to handle this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A loud banging on her door startled her out of her thoughts. “Uma! It’s almost noon and ye haven’t even come out to yell at us for not being packed! How much did you drink last night?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry Hook. One of her best friends, one of the only two people in the world that would know something was wrong, even if he couldn’t see her. Like right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, just sleeping in. You know how I get with hangovers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, which is why you never have them. You have a fucking drink regimen every time we go out! Open up and tell me what the fuck is going on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Uma slowly slid out of bed, grabbed the complimentary hotel robe from the bathroom, and carefully opened the door so as to not reveal more of her room than necessary. “I’m fine,” she said as calmly as she could. “I just got caught up with everything last night and messed up my drinking shit so I’m not feeling good right now. I’m sorry, but you really should be getting packed and making sure all of your flight stuff is in order. Also, help Gil find his tickets and make sure you both have IDs and I’m going to need to borrow some cash to tip the valet. I still need to get my things packed but I’ll be done with that in a  few minutes. We’ll need to leave soon if we’re going to make it to the airport on time.” As she talked, Uma felt all the pieces of her sanity sliding back into place. She was competent and in control and absolutely not a terrible hot mess. It felt good to be back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She just needed to make sure she stayed that way. </span>
</p>
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